


Fabulae Non Mentior

by Capiche



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Intergalactic Space Political Drama, M/M, Romance, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capiche/pseuds/Capiche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that legends cannot lie. </p><p>Or, in which Poe is a space pirate and quite happy to remain one, Finn isn't a space prince- except for how he kind of is, and Rey wanted an adventure, yes, but not quite like this. </p><p>A space opera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.I - at vicissim aestus

**Author's Note:**

> This came about one fine day when the thought "hey, wouldn't it be great if Poe was a space pirate, and Finn was a Stormtrooper turned ex-Stormtrooper turned adopted space prince turned secret Resistance colonel" occurred to me, and, as one does, I decided that I was doing this thing and then this hot mess just spiralled out from my brain. 
> 
> And yes, I used a translator paired with a crash-course in Latin conjugations to write the titles. I tried, folks.

At the turn of tides

***

_Long ago, there were three beings._

***

**Galactic date: 01.03.32AE**

**Location: Jakku, Hortan System, Outer Ring**

“Your departure is not authorised,” the computer informs Poe blandly through the dashboard of his stolen starfighter. The alarms in the hangar are wailing, and together with the shots rocking the sides of the ship, Poe can feel a headache growing. If he had the time to look in the mirror right now there would be a throbbing vein making its appearance in his right temple.

“Desist and return immediately,” the computer insists. “Your departure is not authorised.”

“‘Not authorised’, huh,” Poe shoots back. He finally manages to detach the hangar clamp with a looping twist and darts through the hangar doors with no small sense of relief. “Thanks for letting me know, I had no fucking clue.”

“Desist and return immediately.”

“How about _you_ desist and shut the kriff up?”

“Your departure is – ” The computer voice splutters off into a petulant electronic crackle as Poe puts away his slightly smoking blaster. He’d been so close to making his way off Jakku without frying the comms, too, which would’ve made this fighter all the more worth breaking into the First Order outpost. Nevermind, he could always get BB-8 to help him fix it up later.

“Alright,” he hums, steering the fighter about a lot more easily now that he could concentrate solely on dodging TIE Fighter fire and not on blocking out the computer.

Like every other sane being in the galaxy, Poe held no love for the First Order, but even he could appreciate the masterful combination of practicality and aesthetics their techs consistently produced in their crafts. The DB-100x series were no different; beautiful in their own right, with their sleek lines and powerful weapons array. Hot with a great right hook, Poe thinks appreciatively. He would settle for less than that.

Another hit shakes the entire ship. Immediately, a sensor to his left goes wild. Poe glances at the readout and bites back a curse. Shields at thirty per cent. He looks right to the radar display. There were at least four Special Forces TIEs on his tail and one of them had just landed a lucky hit.

They had to _really_ want this craft back to be bothered to send the TIE-SFs after him. Unfortunately for them, Poe was stubbornness incarnate, and hadn’t come this far to just give up anyway.

He also didn’t want to get captured, which came hand-in-hand with giving up. Poe had way too much bounty on his head to get out of _that_ alive.

“Right, it’s been great knowing you folks, but I think I’m gonna take my leave now,” Poe informs the four dots on his console, flooring the accelerator and prepping the hyperdrive. The mage in his village had once told his parents that he had just enough magic to give him slightly enhanced reflexes and senses, but not enough to put him on the radar of the Galactic Empire’s kindly meant but annoying as hell recruiting drives. Young Poe had been desolate for precisely one hour until his mother had told him that this still put him in the running to become the best _kriffin’_ pilot in the galaxy, right after her. She hadn’t put it in those exact words, but the sentiment was there.

Now, Poe’s lack of magic doesn’t stop him from feeling the palpable frustration emanating from the First Order pilots as he continues to barrel towards light speed while avoiding the barrage of fire. He can’t help but cheekily wave at approximately where he thinks they must be as he finally punches the hyperdrive and the viewscreen dissolves into glimmering streaks of dark blue and white.

“Well, that was exciting,” he says to himself, spinning around in the pilot’s chair and meeting BB-8 as it rolls into the cockpit beeping furiously. “What? You found _what_?”

[Prisoner in hold], BB-8 says. [Male. Approximately 20 cycles of age. Vitals indicated unconsciousness]

“Okay. Uh. Wow.” Poe shakes his head and follows BB-8 to the back of the ship where the prisoner hold was presumably located. “Whaddya know, BB-8, we managed to steal a ship _and_ a prisoner from the First Order today. Good job, buddy!” They share a thumbs-up, with BB-8 companionably holding out his welding flame.

He fries the lock on the door, stepping into the room and ignoring BB-8 as it tells him off for being overly dramatic and watching too many holovids.

[Why do you waste charges on your blaster?], BB-8 asks him, in a tone Poe would not have hesitated in classifying as despairing if his robotic companion had been a human one instead.

“Shh, BB-8.” Poe hushes it, eyes on the prone form on the other side of the dimly lit room. “Okay now, let’s see. Maybe they’ll want to join us – either that, or we drop ‘em off at the nearest space station, yeah?”

BB-8 chirps its agreement just as the man stirs, groaning.

“Had a rough day, buddy?” Poe asks agreeably, leaning against the doorframe. “Getting captured by the First Order will do that to you.”

“Urgh,” the (ex -) prisoner moans, shifting one hand up to cover his eyes. “Who are you? Are you with the Resistance?”

“Uh,” Poe snorts. “No, sorry. Kind of far from that. Not First Order far,” he adds hastily when the man stiffens and starts to sit up. “Take it easy, there. It looks like they hit you with a couple of tranquilisers – and not the cushy kind, either.” Despite himself, Poe steps forward to help the man sit up and props him up against one dull metal wall. The man has on a linen shirt and brown pants, the practical and unexceptional combination of most working-class beings in the galaxy. Except, underneath Poe’s fingertips he can feel the unexpected softness of the linen instead of customary roughness, and the man’s cadence had a strange formal swell to it. His curiosity grows further by the musculature that the well-tailored outfit did very little to hide.

“Who are you?” the man repeats now, scooting away from Poe a little. “If you’re not Resistance, why did you save me from the First Order?”

Poe raises an eyebrow. “You mean you can’t tell?”

The man evidently can, judging by how close his eyebrows inched towards his close-cropped hairline. “You’re a madman,” he concludes, not unfairly, but also not correctly, which makes Poe laugh – a real, full-bellied laugh he hasn’t felt in a little while, doing something not entirely unpleasant to his insides.

[He is not incorrect], BB-8 says from beside Poe, cheekily cocking its head to the side.

“That’s debatable,” Poe replies to the man, who doesn’t look quite convinced of Poe’s sanity. “And do I have to take a look at your prevarication subroutines again, buddy?” This, he directs at BB-8, who makes an electronic noise which Poe has learned is its favoured expletive. He thinks he catches the man looking at him with silent judgement for BB-8’s mouthy vocabulary, but Poe doesn’t know what else the man expects from a droid raised in deep space. Sonnets?

The man coughs a little, and when Poe turns to him he looks simultaneously more and less cautious. “If you don’t mind, who are you?”

Poe sighs. “I’m a pirate,” he says, rolling his eyes pre-emptively at the inevitable cries of damnation and outrage. They never even gave him the chance to explain that he only ever helped to lighten the pockets of the filthy, criminally rich and the First Order before starting on the outrage.

To Poe’s surprise, the man only squints a little at his face before recognition dawns. “You’re Poe Dameron,” the man says, in the tone Poe uses when he discovers the carnage from one of BB-8’s late night welding binges.

“That’s me,” Poe agrees, hiding his wariness with a beam and finger guns. “Poe Dameron, best pilot and _pirate_ on this side of the galaxy. Maybe the whole galaxy. I haven’t been over to the other side recently.”

“There’s a 200 000 credit reward for you,” the man says, looking rather unimpressed. It was a pity more people didn’t appreciate Poe’s pilot/pirate joke, but it was their loss, really.

“200 000?” he says instead. “Huh. Well, that’s sure gone up even more since the last time I was anywhere closer to the Core than the Middle Ring. What’d I do to earn that kind of bounty? I mean, I’m flattered, really,” Poe adds.

The man raises an eyebrow. “Multiple counts of theft,” he says simply. “Trespass, too many counts. Smuggling of illegal items, including but not limited to Takodana Fire Whiskey, which has been known to induce fire breathing and bouts of pyromania and arson in drinkers - ”

“Hey,” Poe interjects. “You’re making me blush, here. A guy doesn’t need all his achievements read out like that. And anyway,” he gives the man a sceptical look. “What are you, a computer? Do you go around memorising every minor felon on file’s record?”

“I’d hardly call you a _minor_ felon,” the man counters. “And no, I only ever remember the records of felons of interest. Which you are, for the record.”

“Aw,” Poe simpers, because he _was_ a bit of a shit. “Are you _interested_ in me?”

“ _No_ ,” the man replies, looking so affronted and bristling with indignity. Poe couldn’t help but snicker a little.

“You don’t need to hide your hot, hot _interest_ in me,” Poe continues cheerfully. “People love me, no need for shame…uh, what’s your name, buddy?” he asks after a belated realisation.

The man hesitated a little, which immediately sent silent alarms in Poe’s mind ringing. “John,” he replies, eyes darting to some point over Poe’s right shoulder in a manner that was subtle as a rampaging bantha. “That’s me. I’m John.”

“Right.” Poe grins in a manner he’s been reliably told is a good combination of rakish and coaxing. “Now, what’s your _real_ name?” He laughs at the man’s startled expression. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re really shit at lying?”

The man looks resigned and a little wistful and nostalgic all at once. “Yes,” he replies, lips curving up slightly. The small act transforms his face, revealing well-used creases of mirth around his eyes and softening his entire demeanour which up to this point, has been rather prim and cool.

Poe shakes his head a little, like he can fling these thoughts right out of his mind. “You gonna tell me your name?” he asks. “I mean, I did tell you I was a pirate, and you already knew who I was after that from your creepy memorisation habits.”

Technically that wasn’t a very big concession, if at all, on Poe’s part – but the man didn’t need to know that. Poe watches as the man looks rather thoughtful, before nodding to himself as if coming to a decision.

“I’m Finn,” the man says finally. Poe eyes him, but the man’s actually meeting his eyes this time and doesn’t seem to be expiring with effort, so he’ll take this one. There's also something strange about the name which niggles at the back of his mind, but he ignores it for now, resolving to ask BB-8 later.

“Well, Finn.” Poe rolls the name in his mouth. “Tell me, what brings a lovely young man like yourself to this side of the galaxy?”

Finn looks like he’s trying to hold back an eye roll. “Getting captured by the First Order.”

Right. Poe had forgotten about that. “Right,” he says. “Just making sure you aren’t concussed.” BB-8 blats out an incredulous “what” and he nudges it aside gently. “Second question; do you remember _why_ you were captured?”

Finn tenses a little, staring at Poe suspiciously and with a touch of slight confusion and maybe concern, like Poe was being the biggest idiot in the galaxy and _he_ was the one concussed. “The First Order,” Finn says finally, slowly. “They captured me because I was making a bit too much of a fuss about the MRLs.”

It’s Poe’s turn to stare. “MRLs?” _How long had he been out of the main rings?_ , he wondered. It surely hadn’t been any more than about five cycles. And, more disturbingly, how big of a fuss had the guy made? Surely they weren’t slinging anyone who made some disparaging comments into a First Order outpost on kriffing _Jakku_.

“Mage Regulatory Legislations,” Finn says. His voice is suspiciously neutral and devoid of any inflections, like as if he’d been trained to smooth out any tells. It’s a fair effort, but one that is unfortunately belied by the small wrinkle in his forehead as he stares at Poe critically. Clearly, his lessons hadn’t covered body language tells yet.

“They’re regulating Mages?” Poe asks, confused. “What happened to the equality acts? Last I heard, the senate and backing monarchy was going for _peace_ , not to egg on the conflicts.”

Finn’s face is a rictus of absolute befuddlement now, and Poe desperately wants to laugh but holds it back out of deferment to the fairly serious topic. The Great Intergalactic War, the First _and_ Second Galactic Wars – all long, bloody, drawn out wars and they had all been fought in the name of equality, every one of them. Poe was a pirate, that was for sure, but he didn’t want to see bloodshed flung all across the galaxy anymore than the average Galactic citizen.

“That was six cycles ago,” Finn now explained, which confirmed that yes, Poe really had been out of it for that long. “Since then, the First Order’s gone on a backroom campaign to bribe or blackmail every senator into passing a series of increasingly harsh regulations on Mages and other magic-users, backed by a large portion of the public after some high-profile incidents involving a rogue Mage.”

“Rogue Mage?”

Finn sighs. “Ever heard of the Trillia massacre?”

Oh, shit. “Shit,” Poe mumbles. BB-8 coos out a low note of distress. That – well, that explained a lot. News of the thousands of Trillia II children slaughtered by a herd of Rathtars controlled by a Mage had gone across the galaxy like wildfire, even reaching Poe in his small corner of the outer reaches.

“Yes,” Finn agrees wearily. “Because of the public backlash, the regulations have been able to go through even without monarchy backing. And now, they want to introduce magic-dampeners for every Mage and magic-user, in order to ‘ensure no citizen has an unfair advantage over another.’ It’s all contrived, of course, but it’s hard to argue that in the face of a trillion cries of support.”

Poe dimly registers through his shock that his mouth is hanging open like a gooberfish. Magic-dampeners? Regulations? Had the entire world gone completely bantha-shit crazy in the last five – no, six years?

“This is ridiculous,” he says. “I – what – how – _why_?”

“Wait, what or how or why?”

“All of it!” Poe flings out a hand in agitation. This was too much, too sudden. Poe didn’t want to handle it – he wanted to sell this hunk of metal and take his credits and hide back in his corner of the galaxy. “Right,” he says, more to himself than Finn. “So I’m assuming you have to get back to making a fuss about the MRLs; BB-8 and I can drop you off at the nearest space station, maybe even help you find some safe transport, and then we’ll be on our merry way. Sound good?”

“What?” Finn protests. “No – wait – could you help me back to the Middle Ring at least?”

Poe shakes his head. “Uh, nope, no can do, sorry. I have a very strict self-preservation policy and it starts and ends with _keep BB-8 and I alive and intact_. Messing with intergalactic politics over _magic_ is not how to go about keeping that policy.”

“I – Dameron, I really need get back to Hosnian Prime before they start talks for the new MRL.”

“Why?” Poe asks, tilting his head. “Are you a senator, or something?”

Finn flushes. “No, Dameron, I am not.”

“Hmm.” Poe considers him, and decides not to question that any further. For now. “Well, at any rate, I am definitely not going to Hosnian Prime. Or did you forget the 200 000 bounty on my head?”

“Dameron, _please_.”

“Nope.” Poe eyes Finn speculatively. “Unless you’re hiding a pile of credits under those clothes of yours.”

Finn looks both guilty and embarrassed. “No credits,” he admits. “But, Dameron – look – it’s the fate of the galaxy on the line!”

“Wow,” Poe calls over his shoulder, as he makes his way down the passage to where BB-8 helpfully informs him the kitchens are. “Buddy, lemme tell you, that is _not_ a line you want to use on a pirate.”

“Why not?” asks Finn from right behind him, having followed Poe and BB-8. “You’re _in_ the galaxy, are you not?”

“Uh, try again,” Poe snorts, rifling through one cupboard. Huh. That was some good food right there. He began pulling out ingredients. “I live in a place so damn remote I’m pretty sure the rest of the galaxy could implode and I’d be fine.”

“That explains so much,” he hears Finn mutter, before the man takes in a deep breath. “Dameron. I am asking you, very desperately, if you could kindly take me to the Illenium system. That’s all I ask. And after we get there, I promise you that I’ll get a large pile of credits for you.”

Poe pauses and tilts his head in the middle of assembling the biggest sandwich he can manage without it toppling. “How big’s the pile?”

Finn meets his gaze steadily, mouth twitching despite his irritation. “200 000 credits big.”

Poe huffs and takes a huge bite out of his sandwich. “Cute. 300 000, take it or leave it,” he says through his mouthful. He’s bluffing, really. 200 000 would be more than enough to live comfortably on for the rest of his life.

“Done.” Finn doesn’t even hesitate, which Poe’s eyes narrow at, although he does look a little revolted by the delightful show Poe’s open mouth chewing must be.

“What’s in the Illenium system?” he asks, deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The Illenium system would be easy as parfle-catching to get to, and he’d even get 300 000 out of it.

“The Resistance Base.”

“Righto.” He swallows his mouthful and sets the sandwich back down. “BB-8, set the course for Takodana. You know the one to use, buddy.”

“Takodana?” Finn rounds on Poe. “I thought we were going to the Illenium system!”

Poe gives Finn his best shit-eating grin – the one BB-8 despairs at because it’s gotten him into many a fistfight. “I said I’d get you there, but not _when_ , didn’t I?”

Finn throws his hands up in the air. “Does _intergalactic emergency_ not do anything to you?”

Poe winks at the man. “It makes me think I should probably trade off this First-Order beauty before the galaxy goes into a crisis, yes.”

“We need to get back to the Resistance so we can stop the First Order from overtaking the entire damn galaxy!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Poe catches the barely contained wince and exaggeratedly chews with his mouth closed before swallowing. “There is no ‘we’ about this. BB-8 and I are taking you to your Resistance whatever and then we’re turning right around and heading back to deep space. _You_ are going off to save the galaxy, although how you’re gonna do that if you’re not a senator, I don’t know, but whatever, that’s your gig.”

Finn rolls his eyes, apparently at the end of his tether. “Fine. No we.”

“Indeed,” Poe agrees, shoving the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. “Right,” he sprays crumbs everywhere as he speaks and Finn steps back neatly out of range. “BB-8’s specs say this diplomatic class ship should have about three fully furnished rooms behind the cockpit, so go get whichever one you want. We’ll be in Takodana in a day or so, so you should rest up. Getting knocked out with those tranqs really do a number on you.”

The younger man nods and begins walking off down the hallway. There’s a slump in the line of his shoulders that wasn’t there before, and the proud tilt of his stance is less strong.

“Hey,” Poe calls out, before he can stop himself. “If you need anything, just ask BB-8 or me,” he says, when the man turns around again.

Finn nods, the expression of surprise on his face reflected in Poe’s own feelings. “Thank you,” he replies.

The funny formal cadence nagged again at Poe, but after a few more moments of contemplation he lets it go. There would be time later to figure it out, he reckoned, and heads off down the hall to check on BB-8.

***

**Galactic date: 01.03.32AE**

**Location: Resistance Base, D’Qar, Illenium System, Middle Ring**

“Your highness - General!”

“Hush, now,” whispers Queen Leia Organa, her face very large on the viewscreen. The light on her face is strangely dappled, as if she’s hidden in a wardrobe. “I don’t have much time before the next senate meeting – have we received word from Finn?”

“Colonel Finn hasn’t been heard from since he went down over Praxis V,” reports Admiral Ackbar. “We’ve attempted to make contact with him, but at this stage it is most likely he’s been captured.” By whom, he doesn’t need to say. The Head of the Galactic Empire’s crestfallen expression says it all.

“I never should’ve sent him on that mission,” Queen Organa murmurs, closing her eyes briefly. When she opens them, they’re suspiciously shiny but her voice is strong and determined. “Send our best reconnaissance pilots out to the nearest First Order outposts to Praxis V. We need to launch a rescue mission as soon as we have determined where Colonel Finn is being held.”

“Yes, sir.” The admiral makes a note on his datapad. “When do you anticipate the senate bringing the new MRL act to the table?”

The general – or queen – sighs. “Within the month, that’s for certain. The First Order’s been increasing the pressure on senators, and now that the Prince has been taken, they’ve been spreading propaganda that he was taken by a group of anti-monarchy mages. The public’s been crying for blood.”

“Should we spread counter-propaganda, General?”

“No, we have no evidence that the First Order took Finn; the Resistance will need to focus on finding Finn.”

Admiral Ackbar nods. “Understood. We’ll check in with you in a few hours.”

Queen Organa fades from the screen. _Allahu pranas_ , he thinks. The tides of the galaxy were shifting and change was coming – good, or bad, though that was the question.

***

_And one was compassion, the other was courage, and the third was grace._


	2. I.II - semitae nostrae voluntatis

The paths of our choosing

***

_They would be by as Prana shaped a new life._

***

**Crown Prince Finn Captured! Anti-Monarchy Mage-Sympathisers to Blame!**

Reliable sources have informed the Galactic Times that Rebellion agents were responsible for H.R.H. Prince Finn’s disappearance over Praxis V, where he was apparently sent as H.R.H Queen Organa’s royal representative to the planet’s national holiday. 

“The Prince’s craft was shot down,” says Bunor Atek, who witnessed the incident while returning home to the festivities. “Then, quick as anything, a Rebellion craft just uncloaks and goes after it, and then next thing I knew – it’d gone to hyperdrive!”

The capture of the Galactic Empire’s beloved Crown Prince comes as the newest piece of Mage Regulatory Legislation prepares to go before the Galactic Senate. Insiders have confirmed that the proposed MRL will require all mages and magic-users to wear a power-dampening cuff, provided gratis by First Order Technologies. 

Public opinion to the news of another MRL has been overwhelmingly positive, as calls for equality amongst all Galactic citizens strengthen. 

“Any magic user can use the mesmer to get what they want,” explains Ja’lik, 28, from Hosnian Prime. “They don’t even need to be trained as a mage for that!”

“Look, all I’m gonna say is that about two in three of major industry heads have the M1 gene. Coincidence? I think not – and listen, I think we all have reason to be wary,” says Qawert, 45, Coruscant citizen.

And rightly so, as the entire Galactic Empire has just witnessed with the disappearance of Crown Prince Finn. The Senate is scheduled to convene for preliminary discussions in two months. From everyone here at the Galactic Times, there’s only hope that it hasn’t been too late in coming.

_[Wasdert Juk Jr., The Galactic Times, 01.03.32AE]_

***

**Galactic Date: 02.03.32AE**

**Location: Stolen First Order DB-100x Starfighter, about 5 light years from Takodana, Outer Ring**

Poe was a very heavy sleeper.

No, that wasn’t true - at least, not after BB-8 had had anything to say about Poe’s ability to sleep through any alarm, from a simple clock to “a solar flare, Beebs!”. The second time Poe had almost driven them into a black hole by not waking up on time, BB-8 had declared Poe’s new alarm to be the sound of BB-8 charging up its taser, complete with strong incentives.

Poe had never overslept again.

Ten hours after his little jaunt in and out of Jakku outpost, his eyes instinctively fly open.

“Urgh,” is the eloquent first sound out of his mouth. He tries again. “Put that ‘way,” he mumbles.

[Get up], BB-8 demands, a stout metre bundle of righteous droid fury.

Poe briefly contemplates saying “no”, remembers BB-8’s fully charged taser in his face, and wisely keeps his mouth shut.

[You smell], BB-8 then informs him in what it probably thinks is a helpful manner. Thankfully, the taser retracts back into its main body. [Go shower, please]

“Why d’you bully me so much,” he mumbles, slowly staggering towards the ensuite, wishing for some RCC, a shower, and food – in any order. “I give you love and devotion, and you just tell me I stink –” The rest of his complaint is cut off by a jaw-cracking yawn. 

[You are assaulting my olfactory sensors], replies BB-8, following him into the bathroom. Poe, who has long since given up on the concept of personal space with BB-8, thinks his showers would probably feel a little lonely without BB-8’s bitching at this point.

“Oh yeah?” He tugs his shirt over his head, getting a lungful of himself and _phew_ . BB-8 wasn’t wrong; boy, was Poe _ripe_ , although he elects not to say this last thought aloud, instead busying himself with adjusting the temperature and stepping under the spray with a sigh of satisfaction. 

[ETA at Takodana in 2 hours], reports BB-8 after a while, startling Poe from where he had begun to doze off halfway through washing his hair. [Do not fall asleep in the shower, please]

Poe grimaces at BB-8 through the shower curtain. "That was _one_ time." 

Incredulous beeping. [You sustained a concussion]

Which was, unfortunately, true. Poe heaves a sigh and forces himself to get going. "That's true," he allows. "Thanks, BB-8." 

The pleased beeping that fills the bathroom at this is enough to make him crack a smile that stays all through the rest of his shower and as he half-heartedly pulls on his clothes from yesterday.  

The man in the mirror on the wall blinks back at him, and drags a hand over the bruised shadows underneath his eyes, the two day stubble that’s grown since Poe had left on this stint. In the harsh day-cycle light, the blackness of his clothes only serves to accentuate the exhaustion seeping deep into Poe’s bones.

As they amble down the hallway a thought occurs to Poe, making him stop in his tracks right in the kitchen doorway. "Wait," he says. "Finn – "

“Good morning,” Finn says politely and scares half Poe's soul out of his body. Finn’s hands are folded neatly together in front of him on the marble topped table where he sits, like he hadn't just been sitting in the kitchen for Prana only knew how long, presumably waiting for Poe.

[Finn is in the kitchen], BB-8 says, somewhat belatedly.

“Right,” says Poe, biting his lips to hold back the _holy kriffing Prana’s starry pants_ that threatens to escape. “Er - good morning? Wait - is that RCC?” he adds, mild soul-sucking terror temporarily forgotten.

“What?” Finn follows Poe’s covetous gaze to the cup sitting by his elbow. “Oh! Here.” He pushes it towards Poe, hand faltering a little when Poe snatches up the cup and inhales its contents in three long gulps. 

“…thanks,” Poe finally says, feeling his intelligence percolating back. “Gotta love the RCC.” He sets down the mug and looks up in time to see Finn with his brow slightly twisted, and mouth pursed, like he’d tried to wash censure off his face but had missed some spots.

“Not an RCC drinker?” Poe asks mildly.

Finn’s brows draw together with consternation. “How did you know?”

“You looked really grossed out,” Poe explains. “And fair ‘nough, it’s an acquired taste.”

“That’s putting it nicely,” Finn mutters, then flushes. “I mean, it tastes, well –”

“Like bantha shit,” Poe puts in helpfully. “It’s okay, you can say it.”

“Well – yes.” Finn rubs a hand through the short hairs at the back of his head unconsciously. “I always just called it Really Crap Coffee, to be honest,” he admits, then looks briefly surprised.

Poe pushes down his curiosity. “Really Crap Coffee, huh,” he chuckles instead. “Well, you’re not wrong.” BB-8 coos its approval and Poe sighs down at it. “Yeah, yeah, RCC is full of chemicals,  I’m ruining my body - BB-8 delivers a lecture every single morning, without fail,” he explains, when Finn looks from BB-8 to Poe, puzzled.

Finn opens his mouth, presumably to deliver a lecture that would give BB-8 a run for its money, but visibly changes track. “I – okay, nevermind. I just wanted to ask; you said you’re a pirate?”

“Er.” Poe looks to BB-8, who makes an inquiring beep. “Yes?”

“How did you steal this ship?”

Poe grins. “I _liberated_ this beautiful lady - isn’t that right, BB-8?”

[Down with the First Order assholes], BB-8 agrees.

Finn looks suspiciously like he’s physically holding back an eyeroll. “Okay, then how did you _liberate_ this ship? Wasn’t it...heavily guarded?”

Poe doesn’t bother with petty things like self-restraint, and goes right ahead with rolling his eyes. “All the Stormtroopers on base were very busy dealing with some explosions. On the other side of the base.” He doesn’t need to elaborate any further because Finn has already connected the dots, judging by the disapproval washing over his face.

“You set a remote detonation sequence,” Finn sighs, like the universe has dealt him a great injustice by setting him on a collision course with Poe. “Of course you did.”

“Oi,” Poe objects. “I’ll have you know that took no small amount of effort.”

“Did you steal the explosives too?” Finn asks, all squinty-eyed with disapproval. “No – wait –”

Poe snickers. “Obviously.”

“- I don’t want to know,” finishes Finn with a groan. “ _Dammit_.”

Poe winks at Finn. “What can I say? Some folks just don’t invest in good security measures, which, the last time I checked, was practically an invitation for theft.”

“That’s not how the Galactic Law _works_ ,” Finn says heavily.

“A certain Section 5, Article 3 would beg to differ,” Poe points out. “It says it’s the responsibility of an owner to ensure that sufficient security measures are implemented to prevent theft.”

Finn looks scandalised, even though he doesn’t sound it. “What? _No_ , Section 5.3. states that should an owner leave property without any basic theft-preventative measures - _then_ it’s not counted as theft. We’re talking about if someone left their credit chip outside.”

Poe smirks. “ _Basic_ measures. Okay, so, half the galaxy uses biometric scanners, am I right?” Finn nods warily. “Well, bio scanners are easiest things ever to crack - freeze ‘em, and they crack and fall off. So technically, they aren’t even a basic measure.”

“Oh?” Finn doesn’t back down. “And what about your corporate heists? Did they have equally paltry defences? Last time I checked, DNA cannons and infra-magic sensors were among the the Ministry of Defence’s top-listed security measures.”

“Wow.” Poe says, leaning back against the kitchen table and widening his eyes winsomely. “Sounds terribly complicated. Not that’d I know. Because I don’t, you know, do that sort of thing.” Finn has the look only the deeply unimpressed can muster. “Well I’m not going to just stand here and admit everything to you,” Poe points out. “You’ve probably already got enough stuff to toss me into the deepest, darkest hole the galaxy has.”

“Wait,” says Finn, brows furrowed. “You think I’d get you arrested?”

Poe eyes him. The man looked lucid, but Poe knew just as well that sometimes the most unassuming individuals could be the biggest bagfuls of bantha-shit crazy.

“Well,” he says. “Yeah. You’re obviously some kind of hotshot on Hosnian Prime, and I _admitted_ I’m a pirate - and galactic official plus pirate equals arrest. So.” He tilts his chin so he’s no longer staring at some random point on Finn’s forehead but directly into the other man’s gaze, which has grown steadily less wary and a whole lot more gentle.

“You really thought I was going to just turn on you, and you were still going to take me to the Illenium system,” Finn says, his voice very, very measured. “Why?”

Poe shrugs. “Because the MRLs sound like a shit show and someone should really stop it. I dunno what you’re gonna do, but whatever, I’m just doing my civic duty and all that.” He doesn’t add: _Because you asked for help_ . _Because you look like you actually care about the people in the galaxy._

Poe doesn’t say any of these things. What he does say is: “Anyway. I think we’re close to Takodana now. I’m gonna go and land this thing.”

*******

"Righto then," Poe says, strapping himself into the pilot's chair. Beside him, BB-8 extends two clamps to hold onto the floor. "Once we get to Takodana, BB-8 and I are gonna go in, trade in this ship for a clean one, maybe some supplies, and get out. This ship's a beauty, but I wouldn't bet on the First Order not being able to break the jamming signal within the next day."

"Jamming signal?" Finn asks from behind Poe's headrest. "What jamming signal?"

"The jamming signal I put on this ship's tracker," Poe replies, eyes on the pre-landing checks scrolling across one holoscreen. Pneumatic seals, check; hyperdrive dispersion gear, check; shield generator, check. Satisfied that they wouldn't be blown to bits across the space sectors of five different planets, Poe turns back to Finn, who's peering at the controls, eyes wide. "That would also be why they haven't hunted us down and shot us right out of the sky," he adds, turning wide eyes back to him.

"True," Finn concedes. "So, wait - Takodana? What am I going to do?"

Poe hadn't considered that. "Well," he says, considering. "Two options, I guess. Option a, you stay on the ship, BB-8'll come get you once we're done and ready to go."

"Okay." Finn takes this in with his usual lack of reaction. "And option b?"

"Option b, you come with us to Maz's cantina. Wouldn't be a bad idea, actually - it's neutral ground, pretty safe."

Finn eyes him. "What about outside?"

"Well," says Poe. “I heard some Corellian shot a Hutt right on her threshold once. Maz was furious. All that blood, you know. S’hard to get out from between the flagstones."

“Naturally,” says Finn, a little faintly.

“Do you want to stay back?”

Finn appears to seriously consider this, before firmly shaking his head. “I’m coming with you,” he decides, and there’s a note of determined stoicism that makes Poe wonder if he’s trying to convince Poe or himself.

[ETA Takodana one minute], BB-8 informs Poe.

“Okay,” Poe nods at the co-pilot’s chair. “It’ll be good to have you along. I’m bringing us into Takodana, so strap in.”

He waits to hear all two clicks of the cross-body harnesses securely fastening before shifting the gear to disengage the hyperdrive. Safety was important. A young Poe flattened against a ship’s window, having not followed the recommended safety procedures, could attest to that.

BB-8 makes a considering hum as it runs through some calculations. [Adjust entry trajectory by 1.05 degrees], it suggests. [And reduce velocity to 4 microparsecs per second]

“Gotcha,” Poe replies, keying in the commands to the computer. Takodana fills up most of the viewscreen in front of them, a blue orb painted liberally with strokes of dappled green. In the corner of his eyes he sees Finn lean forward, eyes rounded with wonder. “Alright, landing in three – two – one –”

The ship barely shudders as it touches down on the banks of a river. It was close enough to Maz’s cantina to be convenient, and under a natural outcropping of rock so as to be hardly visible to all but the keenest of eyes.

Poe bounces out of his seat, and claps FInn on the shoulder.

“Alright,” he says, starting down a hallway to where he’s fairly sure the storage units are. “Let’s get you kitted out. First things first, I think we better find you a hood of some sort - folks like you are bound to get all sorts of attention from the seedy clientele Maz still entertains.”

“Folks like me?”

Poe stops in front of one of the units and thumbs it open, trying to figure out a diplomatic way of saying it. He settles for waving vaguely in the other man’s direction. “Yeah, you know. Because.”

Finn blinks; he looks down at himself, then to BB-8, then back to Poe. “Because…?”

Poe sighs, pulling out the first robe he finds and casting it aside after a cursory glance. “Because you look like you don’t belong any further from the Core than the Inner Ring, okay? And you talk funny.”

“I talk funny,” Finn repeats drily, crossing his arms across his chest. “Wow, thanks Dameron.”

“I’m just saying,” says Poe. “You asked.” He digs a little further into the cabinet, eyeing the garishly coloured array warily.

Finn mutters something under his breath. Poe doesn’t catch all of it, but he’s pretty sure he hears ‘actual two year-old’. He sticks his head out to give Finn a wide shit-eating grin. “What was that?”

Finn meets his eyes. He looks the tiniest bit abashed as he blatantly lies and replies, “I said, what do you think is the probability that the deal will go wrong?”

Poe cocks a brow, but doesn’t call Finn out, instead considering this query and rocking back onto his heels.

“It won’t,” he assures Finn, then reconsiders his answer. “Well, I mean there was that one time Jabba the Hutt thought I was double crossing him, which I _wasn’t_ -”

[You were], BB-8 interjects.

Poe glowers, but there’s no heat in it. “I had my fingers crossed! That rendered the deal null and void. I’m a being of honour,” he adds, mainly for Finn’s benefit.

Finn, whose expression started off vaguely amused, then went to horrified, and now seems to be stuck oscillating between terrified horror and horrified amusement. “We,” he says, almost wonderingly, “Are going to get _blasted to Hosnian Prime and back_.”

“Well, that’s great for you, then, isn’t it?” Poe replies snippily.

Finn gives him this _look_ and Poe groans and sticks his head back into the cabinet.

“No - okay- seriously, don’t worry.” He pulls out some more robes which invariably end up on the floor in a rumpled heap. “I’m very charming, so if, and that’s a very unlikely _if_ , something goes wrong, I’ll talk our way out of it. No biggie.”

“Are you, though?” Finn asks doubtfully. “Charming, that is.”

“You -” Poe starts. BB-8 rolls about hooting with laughter in a manner that was hurtful and frankly uncalled for. “I don’t need to put up with this.”

He finally spots a hint of brown amongst the sea of eye-popping shades, and pulls it out with a triumph. “No-one’s getting shot - or blasted - alright? I swear on Prana’s starry pants, not everyone outside of the Inner Rim are a bunch of trigger-happy pirates. We’re gonna be just _fine_.”

“No, apparently they’re just all a bunch of trigger-happy _minor felons_ ,” Finn agrees thoughtfully.

Poe throws the robes at his head.

***

**Galactic Date: 02.03.32 AE**

****Location: Takodana, Vertus System, Outer Ring** **

Thirteen cycles ago, Poe had walked into Maz’s cantina and thought, “Oh kriff.”

The first thing to hit had been the smell. Spicy tendrils of cooking Praxan Chili Mynock had been twined with undercurrents of something spicy. He could smell the strong perfumes worn by some Yangun to cover their natural identifying musk. Somewhere in the room there had been a delicate flowery scent, and Poe had painfully remembered, heart aching, of days when he had first sat behind the controls of an old A-Wing, safe in the arms of his mother.

Poe, now at thirty cycles old, walks through the double doors as ancient as Maz but far more weathered. Maz, herself, is as sprightly as she was when Poe had last seen her, a month ago - probably a century ago, as well. He spots her diminutive figure now, hovering beside the bar, wiping down glasses.  

“Maz!” Poe exclaims in delight. “How’s my favourite pirate overlord of the galaxy?”

Maz turns around, and her gaze is as piercing and unimpressed as it’s always been. “I was a lot better before a certain pirate underling swaggered back into my cantina,” she says dryly, setting down a clean glass on the bar behind her and nodding respectfully to BB-8. “How long has it been? Two months?”

“Just one,” Poe replies, kneeling and holding out his arms expectantly.

His favourite pirate overlord sighs in a put upon manner. “I will never live down losing that wager,” Maz observes with exaggerated resignation as she steps into his arms and accepts the enthusiastic hug. Neither of them comment that her arms, circled around his shoulders and not quite meeting at the back, tighten around him in return. “And I see you have brought back a friend, this time.”

Poe looks up into Finn’s face which is shadowed by his hood. “This is Finn,” he says, getting back up onto his feet. “Finn, meet Maz Kanata - don’t let her exasperated sighs fool you, she’s secretly a big fan of my hugs.”

Maz looks suspiciously like she’s physically holding back an eyeroll. “So secret that it is unbeknownst even to myself,” she replies wryly. “Well met by Prana’s will, Finn.” This, she directs to the other man in a gentler tone, to Poe’s immense surprise. Maz, to his knowledge, didn’t do _gentle_ \- at least with most beings.

She seemed to make an exception for wayward children, though.

Finn actually bows, bending a little at the waist. “Prana has willed it so,” he greets formally, before straightening. Poe can’t see to be sure, but he thinks that Finn is meeting Maz’s unusually discerning gaze head-on, which makes Poe’s estimation of the man go up by a few notches.  

“Indeed,” Maz replies cryptically after the staring has gone on for a while, just as Poe was starting to feel a bit weird. “The Mage Regulatory Legislations?”

“Huh?” Poe asks, and his confusion only intensifies as Finn says a second later, “We’re working on it. Our contacts are close to finding the plans.”

Maz nods, satisfied. “Good. The First Order have been unusually active this past month, even taking you in a poorly executed attempt to accelerate events. Fools.” A contemptuous snort. “Rushing will only ever take you quicker to failure. And close your mouth, you look like a slack-jawed mynock,” she says briskly to Poe, who quickly does so, only to open it a second later.

“Wait,” he says, because he’s begun to rapidly descend from “confused” to “totally lost”. “What?”

Maz sighs. “Nevermind, dear.” Poe has a feeling that if she could and would, she’d be patting his cheek companionably like one would a concussed bantha. “What is it that you need?”

Poe grins impishly, confusion temporarily forgotten. He leans back down and gestures to Maz so he can whisper theatrically. “Guess which pirate underling stole a DB-100x ship.”

Poe imagines that the face Maz wears now would have given the one she had after the Corellian/Hutt fiasco a run for its money in censure.

“DB-100x,” Maz repeats. “Poe. _Why_.”

“It was fun,” Poe reasons. “Especially when all the explosives went off, and the Stormtroopers looked so confused - right BB-8?”

[Make those assholes run], BB-8 agrees.

Maz’s mouth pinches. “I certainly hope you risked your life by breaking into a First Order outpost for more than just _fun_ ,” she says.

“Hey, it wasn’t that much of a risk! BB-8 gave it a thumbs up,” Poe protests, which was saying something. “I give pirates a good name! I got one over the most powerful tech company in the galaxy.”

“Which also happens to be the darling of the galaxy after so kindly offering to provide magic-dampening cuffs free of charge,” Maz says. “Try again.”

Oh. Poe pauses. “Well,” he says. “My bad. But to be fair, I didn’t know...well anything about the MRL, really.”

There’s a beat of silence in which the _you know why_ goes unsaid between them. Then Maz exhales, not a sigh and all the more telling for it.

“Poe,” she murmurs, impossibly gentle, beckoning. Thirteen year old Poe had railed against this soft understanding tone, angry at the world; but fully grown Poe just follows her into a back storeroom, pathetically grateful that someone in the world did understand. Once they’re at equal eye-level, she takes off her glasses, which leave behind deep imprints. “Poe,” Maz says again. “My child. You cannot continue like this.”

Poe swallows, painfully aware of Finn standing behind them in the storeroom’s doorway, back to them so as to give them privacy. “I can’t give up,” he whispers. “Maz, you know I can’t.”

Maz reaches up to put a hand on his right shoulder. “At the risk of your life, time and time again? I knew Shara Bey. She was a good friend of mine, up until she flew that mission.” Poe looks down. “And I know that this is not what she would’ve wanted for you.”

Poe blinks rapidly. “I have to try,” he says resolutely, once he’s certain his voice won’t wobble in a manner unbefitting for the greatest space pirate in half the galaxy.

“When you are ready to stop searching,” Maz says simply, “I will be here, and you will always have a place with me.”

Poe nods shortly. “I know,” he says. The hand on his shoulder squeezes, and he knows that Maz hears his unspoken _thank you_.

“I suppose you will be looking to trade the ship,” she goes on conversationally, voice louder now so as to tacitly include Finn.

Finn steps up. “I need to get back to the Resistance,” he says, exchanging another meaningful glance with Maz, who looks back to Poe with a raised brow.

“Ferrying wayward strangers, now?” she asks, and Poe shrugs.

“Found him on my ship,” he replies casually. “I would’ve spaced him, but BB-8 probably would’ve been a little displeased. Also, he promised me credits.”

“Of course,” Maz says, and, oh kriff, she sounds knowing. Poe frantically racks his mind for what she could possibly be giving _knowing glances_ at him for this early on, and comes up empty - which was even worse, because Maz had a terrifying track record of knowing Poe’s feelings before he even knew he had them.

“Er,” Poe says, resolving to grill her later. “Is Gundajure in today?”

Maz snorts. “When is that being not.” She puts her glasses back on, and looks about the bar and pointing to one of the darker corners. “There zie is. As salacious and good-for-nothing as always. I do wish you wouldn’t do business with zim. You always come away the poorer for it.”

Poe affects offence. “I always make good deals!”

Beside him, Finn pipes up helpfully. “He’s also charming!”

Maz’s eyebrows, which had just begun to lower, wing up again. “Is he now,” she says, voice full of poorly disguised, dignified glee.

“Okay,” Poe says, quickly getting up before Finn tries to ‘help’ again.

Maz waves them off. “Don’t be foolish in your negotiations, boy.”

Poe waves back cheerfully, and BB-8 extends his torch. “Who me?” He laughs at Maz’s glower. “Alright, going, going.”

He’s still chuckling as he makes his way over to gloomy corner favoured by the Kalun, several empty glasses in front of zim. Behind him, Finn follows after pausing to politely say goodbye to Maz.

“Gundy, my buddy!” Poe cheers, swinging himself into the seat opposite.

As always, the Kalun doesn’t startle in the slightest. “Poe Dameron,” zie replies evenly. The smooth way the being shapes zie’s words reminds Poe bizarrely of Finn, who sits carefully down on the stool beside him.

“So,” Poe says, leaning in close. A bit too close, actually, judging by how he can smell Salurian Fermented Beer on Gundajure’s breath. He leans back ever so slightly. “Say I have a DB-100x ship, fresh from the hangar, not a scratch on her beautiful hide.” Then, remembering the hits the shields took before they’d jumped to hyperdrive and the fried comms: “Barely a scratch,” he amends. “How much would that get me in terms of a clean ship?”

Gundajure looks up for the first time, strangely iridescent eyes meeting Poe’s. “DB-100x, hm?” zie asks. “Those are very expensive, but very well-crafted ships.”

Poe preens. “They fly beautifully,” he says reverentially. “Gotta be worth at least a Constellar Class ship, don’t you reckon?”

“Perhaps,” the Kalun says noncommittally. “I would have to take a look at it, and weigh it up with the ah, _circumstances._ ”

“Circumstances?”

“From what I hear,” Gundajure replies drawing out the ‘f’ as zie’s species is wont to do as a result of their unique evolutionary path. “A certain pirate made off with more than one of their ships.”

Something prickles at the back of Poe’s neck, which he ignores. “What do you mean?”

Gundajure blinks slowly, and combined with his strangely coloured irises the effect is unerring. “My contacts say that the First Order has been searching for a very important prisoner they lost recently.”

Poe licks his lips, finding them dry. “How recent?”

Gundajure makes a show of inspecting zie’s glass. “Yesterday recent.” Zie looks up. “And they’re very, very eager to get him back.”

Poe feels more than sees Finn stiffen and very carefully doesn’t turn to the other man. “Well that’s interesting,” Poe says, as casually as he can manage. Unfortunately for him, and probably Finn and BB-8 as well, he’s not very successful as Gundajure smiles.

It shows all zie’s strangely pointed teeth.

“Very interesting,” Gundajure agrees. “So you understand that I won’t be able to trade with you this time. It’s a pity - I would’ve liked to have gotten ahold of one of the DB-100x class.”

“Maybe next time, eh?” Poe jokes with a humour he doesn’t feel. Quite the opposite, actually. It only worsens when Gundajure’s smile widens, showing even more teeth.

“Oh but I’m afraid there won’t be a next time,” the Kalun says.

Finn’s hand finds Poe’s under the table and squeezes in a unexpected, yet strangely comforting gesture. Poe squeezes back. “No?” he asks lightly. “You going away on a holiday to Coruscant or something, Gundy?”

“Not me,” Gundajure says, as if in one of the terrible hold-em-up shoot-em Coruscant vids. “You are.”

And then, exactly like a bad holovid, the doors burst open.

****  
***** **

For a second, everything is very still. Then, like a stretched rubber band snapping back, everything explodes into action.

“Get down!” Finn shouts in his ear, half deafening Poe. Poe finds himself sprawled on the floor beside Finn, whose hood has fallen off.

“What?” Poe gets out. “What the hell?”

“They’re here,” Gundajure is calling, waving over the - oh _Prana’s starry pants_ \- Stormtroopers. Poe vengefully contemplates siccing BB-8 on zim but settles for shooting the Kalun instead.

“Do you have another blaster?” Finn is shaking him urgently. “Dameron - Poe!”

Beside them, BB-8 has its taser out and fully charged. Poe quickly pulls out the other blaster he keeps clipped in his thigh holster and hands it to Finn. “BB-8, you need to run. You know what to do.”

BB-8 beeps furiously and Poe sighs. “Beebs, we don’t have time for this now! Go! I’ll come find you!”

[You must come back], BB-8 demands. [You must]

Poe blinks. “Of course I will,” he promises. “I promise.”

He watches BB-8 roll away as fast as its accelerators will allow and turns back to Finn. “Okay, what’s our plan?”

Finn grunts, flicking off the safety. “We get the _kriff_ out of here, that’s what. Is there a stun setting on this?”

“What?” Poe hunkers behind the seat, taking pot shots at the Stormtroopers. “Is this really the time?”

The other man looks pained. “Stun setting,” he insists. Then, almost compulsively, he adds: “Please.”

“Oh for-” Poe quickly adjusts the settings on his own blaster, which takes a painfully long time. He waits until the settings light turns green before shoving his blaster unceremoniously into Finn’s hands and grabbing Finn’s in turn. “Here. Now for kriff’s sake, shoot already!”

As it turns out, Finn is a crackshot. Poe half-watches out of the corner of his eyes as the other man takes out Stormtrooper after Stormtrooper with clean, single shots, even managing to land them in strategic positions so that the falling Stormtrooper impedes the progress of its squadmates.

Between them, they take out what looks like at least three squadrons’ worth of Stormtroopers, but it doesn’t take long before Poe’s being forced to his knees, blaster yanked roughly from his hand. Beside him, Finn also goes down with barely a grunt, but makes up for it by managing to stun another two Stormtroopers on the sly.

Poe looks up resentfully as one of the Stormtroopers with a red pauldron armour plate lifts up a communicator and speaks into it. “Target recaptured. Secondary captured.” The Stormtrooper takes the device away from their mouth to look down at Finn. “You’ve caused us a great deal of trouble, Your Highness.”

Poe scowls on principle, before the words catch up to him. “You bastards - wait -” He might have strained something as he whips around to stare at Finn, whose mouth is pressed into a tight line and is looking at anywhere but at Poe. “Your _highness_?”

Finn pales a little but he finally turns to meet Poe’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But, Damer - Poe -”

The Stormtrooper who had spoken before starts laughing - a sound with a hollowness Poe suspects is not entirely due to the reverberatory effects of their helmet. “This space pirate doesn’t even know who you are?” they chuckle. “I had wondered how you had managed to bypass our security measures, but it clearly must have been luck.”

Many years ago, little Bobbie Raety with gravity-defying pigtails and a ego to match had told everyone in their village that Poe had been dropped on his head as a child because Poe was _stoopid_ . He had even written it on pieces of paper which he had then proceeded to hand to every being in their first level class. When Poe had pointed out that “stupid has a ‘u’ in it, so _you’re_ stupid!”, he’d had cried and gotten them both sent to detention, which had been frankly unfair considering Bobbie had been the one going to ridiculous lengths to expose Poe’s apparently subpar intelligence to the world.

It’s possibly a testament to how fucked up the situation is that both Bobbie and Poe were right in their own ways. Poe wasn’t, and still isn’t stupid. But Bobbie had certainly been onto something - namely, that Poe was selectively dumb.

And now, fully-grown and supposedly mature, Poe looks up at the Stormtroooper in front of them and sends a silent apology to BB-8.

“Oh?” he asks innocently. “What security measures?”

The backhand sends him rocking back a little, but Poe bounces back, unfazed even as hears Finn (his Highness, apparently, but now wasn’t the time), suck in an outraged breath.

“You -” Finn starts, but Poe is on a _roll_.

“Do you mean those cute little cannons you mounted on every door?” Poe continues. “I personally thought they were a bit much - but hey! Your totally not dubious scientific research outpost, your decorations, your assaulted visual receptors - also, speaking of -”

“Enough!” shouts the Stormtrooper. The subtle sound of grinding teeth does wonders for Poe’s mood, but not much for his rapidly swelling left cheek. There’d be a spectacular bruise there tomorrow. Meanwhile, the Stormtrooper continues darkly but thankfully keeps their gloved hands to themself, “We’ll see whether you can still joke after Ren is through with you.”

Ren?

Poe had heard about the dark mage, in the dark underground cantinas he had often frequented in his searches, and even then, the name _Ren_ had only even been mentioned in passing whispers. Poe, who made a point of not being afraid of someone he had never even met, now shrugs and looks at Finn.

“I got nuthin’,” he says, wondering if he should throw in a theatrical yawn but deciding against it. BB-8 would be proud. “Your highness? My liege?” Poe exaggeratedly squints at Finn. “My king?”

Finn gives him a look, one which Poe will later analyse from the safe confines of retrospection and realise had probably meant something along the lines of “ _please_ stop talking”. Or, “please _stop talking_ ”. It was a complicated look. “Prince, actually,” Finn corrects, voice dry - dry like the sands of Jakku.

“Prince Finn,” Poe says courteously. “Well, your Highness, I’d bow, but I’m already on my knees, so -”

The Stormtrooper in front of them snaps with an audible click of their teeth. “Shut that one up,” they say, pointing at Poe. The two Stormtroopers on either side of him immediately drag him up.

Finn doesn’t struggle against the Stormtroopers holding him down. “This is in direct violation of the Article 5, Subsection 9, revision 2 under the Coruscant Treaty,” Finn says instead, all in one breath. Poe can practically hear the suppressed anger in the scarily smooth intonation. “Unless you want to double your time in the Vangla, I suggest you desist _immediately_ and surrender.”

Poe and the Stormtrooper both look at Finn, possibly with matching expressions of _what the kriff_. “Surrender?” The Stormtrooper asks, echoing Poe’s incredulity. “To whom? You? A lone royal without the Galactic forces?”

Finn grins. “I don’t need the Galactic forces,” he replies, which is all the warning Poe and the Stormtroopers get before every white-clad soldier gets lifted up and flung into the nearest wall before sliding down, presumably unconscious. The two soldiers holding onto Poe simply crumple down, almost dragging Poe to the floor with them.

The cuffs fall off Poe’s wrists and fall to the ground with a quiet clunk that’s loud in the sudden quiet. Poe blinks down at the Stormtroopers now lying prone all over the cantina, before looking up to see Maz stepping around the bar, brushing aside unconscious bodies with unnatural ease for her height. “What. _What_?”

He startles a little as Finn suddenly steps close to him. “Don’t panic,” the Prince of the entire Galactic kriffing Empire says, hands out as if to catch Poe if he faints.

Poe almost glares at him. “Right, _your Highness_.”

Finn steps back anyway, putting his hands away his back and standing stiffly. “Dameron, I’m sorry for lying to you. I didn’t realise that you didn’t know, and then by the time I realised -”

“You thought, fuck it, why would I tell a pirate who’d probably turn right around and hand me back to the First Order?” Poe finishes. He snorts. “I get it, Finn - can I even call you that?” Poe shakes his head. “Oh whatever, I’m hardly a Galactic citizen, you sure aren’t royalty to _me_.”

The other man looks strangely relieved. “Of course not,” he agrees. “Just call me Finn.”

“I will,” Poe declares, slightly taken aback by Finn’s ready agreement, and a little mullish because of it.

Maz steps between them. “You two need to leave,” she says, stern expression brooking no argument. “BB-8 has found a ship, behind the cantina.”

“What - Maz?”

“There is no time.” Maz grasps his arm apologetically. “I am sorry. They have already sent for reinforcements, and I will not be able to hold off an entire legion of them.”

“At least tell me you’re coming with us,” Poe says, heart already sinking. “Please.”

The grip on his arm tightens. “It is not my path,” is her pragmatic reply.

“Screw paths -” Poe starts heatedly.

“My child.” The hand on his arm squeezes lightly, just enough to be comforting but not patronising. “Do not think we will not meet again. Our paths are set to cross many more times yet. I have lived for centuries, and it will be centuries more until I meet Prana.”

“Okay,” he says. “But I’m holding you to that. Next time I do something stupid you better be there to whap me extra hard with a wash cloth.”

Maz smiles; a small, gentle thing that reaches her eyes, as they always do. Poe wonders again, as he has many a time before, what those eyes must have seen - a hundred years ago, two hundred, a millenium - and how they could remain so kind. “I would never miss that honour,” she replies, just on the right side of wry and amused. “After all, who else could claim the prestige of having scolded the best pirate _and_ pilot in this half of the galaxy?”

Poe gapes. “How do you know that?” he demands, before groaning. There were too many questions, and no time for any of them. “Okay - next time?” Maz’s firm nod calms him somewhat, and Poe looks to Finn.

Hands clasped behind his back and staring at the prone bodies around them with a hard line to his jaw, Poe wonders how he could have missed the undeniably regal way the other man held himself, then thinks of the strangely vulnerable curve to Finn’s shoulders. Like two jigsaw pieces in opposite corners of a puzzle that Poe had only begun to fill in around the edges, taking in all the corner and edge pieces and leaving the middle empty.

“Okay,” Poe says. “Let’s go.”

***

Poe had never been a particularly worshipful or religious being.

Even so, there’s an undeniable feeling of deja vu as he straps himself into the pilot’s seat of the second ship he’s stolen (is in the process of stealing?) in as many days, which is something of a record for even him.

Some things are different this time around though. The Constitution Class ship was a heap of parts held together by spit and prayer and a very far cry from the sleek engineering of the DB-100x, and Poe says as much to BB-8 as he begins the startup sequence. “You really couldn’t have picked a nicer ship?”

[This _was_ the nicer ship], BB-8 huffs indignantly, along with several false comments about Poe’s parentage.

Poe was appalled, and not just by BB-8’s language. “Seriously? And I thought _Jakku_  was a junkyard.”

Finn appears in the doorway to the cabin.

“The doors are sealed,” he reports. “Why haven’t we gone yet?” He doesn’t even sound winded in the slightest, despite having most likely run full tilt from the loading bay.

“Startup sequences are _the worst_ ,” Poe replies. “Seriously, can I skip this one, BB-8?”

[And die a slow, painful death in hyperspace?], BB-8 replies, still snippy. [Absolutely]

“Would it kill you to just say ‘no’?”

BB-8’s response scalds his ears.

“What did it say?” Finn asks. “Sorry - they didn’t cover those in my lessons.”

“Really?” Poe mutters, watching as the dashboard ticks over another check. “I wonder why.”

Finn takes this at face value. “I was supposed to learn enough binary to be conversational,” he tells Poe apologetically. “I don’t know why they didn’t cover those.”

Poe actually twists around to squint at Finn suspiciously, who stares back guilelessly. He resists the urge to run a hand over his face, instead gesturing to the copilot’s seat. “Can you take care of the guns?” he asks. “I can’t fly this thing and shoot at the same time.”

Finn obediently takes the chair indicated. “This is very complicated.” Poe looks over to catch the apprehensive gaze Finn casts over the dashboard and gunner controls.

“They didn’t teach you about the CC-30 range at prince school?” he asks.

“No, actually,” Finn replies. “They told me no-one flew these anymore.”

“Well, there weren’t wrong,” Poe sighs, resisting the urge to toss a _told you so_ over his shoulder at BB-8. “Okay, crash course in this Constitution Class gunnery. Joystick to move the turrets. Buttons to fire. Switches to change between frequency settings.”

“Joystick, buttons. Switch.” Finn’s hands flex on the controls as he says in a lower register: “I can do this. Stay calm. Stay calm.”

“I’m pretty calm,” Poe replies reassuringly. “Although this flying trashcan is kind of travesty.” He catches sight of Finn’s slightly panicked glance. “Oh shit, were you talking to yourself?”

Whatever Finn’s reply is he never finds out as an almighty crash sounds around them.

“Kriff!” Poe checks the readouts. There’s still an entire minute left.

“What? What’s happening?”

“They’re laying ground fire,” Poe replies grimly. “They’re grounding all the starships.” Thirty seconds.

Finn’s eyes are very wide, and Poe finds himself reaching across the space between them to squeeze one white-knuckled hand on the joystick. “Calm down,” he orders. “It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.” He discreetly checks the readout. 20 seconds. “C’mon, your highness, keep it together and shoot straight. You still owe me that pile of credits, remember?”

That seems to get a reaction from Finn, who breaks his wide-eyed stare at the controls to grace Poe with a disgruntled look. “Don’t call me that.”

Ten seconds. “Okay then, my liege,” he says. “Now, hold on. This is going to be one really bumpy ride.”

“Not that either,” Finn groans, completely missing the second half of Poe’s reply as Poe had hoped. Rough takeoffs were a lot easier to go through when one wasn’t tense.

“Cool,” Poe replies, and floors it.

The ship shoots up above the treeline, losing the cover the dense foliage had afforded them. Almost immediately the TIEs spot them, with a barrage of fire following soon after.

“Argh,” Finn gets out, G-force dragging at his cheeks.

One TIE lands a lucky shot, right on the ship’s flank. “Kriffing - dammit!” Poe checks the shields. “ _Thirty_ percent?” Another explosion. “ _Twenty_?!”

“ _Dameron_ ,” Finn says, somewhat unnecessarily over the wailing alarms and BB-8’s distressed beeping. “We need to make the jump!”

Poe starts the hyperdrive ticking over. “It’s gonna need a minute to warm up,” he warns, narrowly dodging an energy shot.

Finn manages to take out two TIE fighters with one amazing shot. “Holy- did you see that?!”

Poe grins wildly. “I saw it, buddy! You’re a natural at this!”

Just then another stray shot hits the rear with an unholy boom. When Poe’s ears stop ringing he notices the low beeping. “Oh no.”

Finn doesn’t stop firing. “‘Oh no’ _what_?”

Poe looks at the ominous red blinking dot on the ship’s stats, heart sinking. “‘Oh no’ they took out one our engines.”

“Can we still make the jump?” Finn asks, getting right to the heart of it.

Poe hesitates. “We can, but -” he makes some mental calculations. “We’re gonna have to stop midway through the Kessel Run and do some repairs.”

“What?” Finn sounds horrified. Poe doesn’t blame him. “We can’t stop _in the middle_ of the Kessel Run!”

“It’s either that or we die in a fiery explosion,” Poe says. “And I don’t know about you, but that’s not what I mean when I say I want to go out with a bang.”

Indecision and determination war across Finn’s features. The latter wins out. “Do it.”

“You sure?” Poe asks, feeling obligated to do so before making the potentially bad move. The ship was ten seconds out from jump-ready. “We can still go back to Takodana,” he offers, although both he and Finn know it’s a death sentence.

“And give up?” Finn shakes his head. “Make the jump.”

“Alright, but -” Poe swerves hard to avoid crashing right into a TIE. “No turning back, okay?”

“Yes - so go already!”

Five seconds left. “I’m serious, Finn!”

Finn swears colourfully. “Poe, I swear to all the kriffing stars if you don’t pull that lever _now_ -”

Poe books it.

***

_“I will give this boon,” said Compassion. “For strength of kindness will carry thee furthest.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Miffy, the beta of this insanity and also the greatest friend any individual could ask for. Thank you for still standing with me after all these years.


End file.
